...
Yves King took a puff of his cigarette, glanced at her indifferently and frowned, "Little girl, get lost. I'm not interested in unconventional girls." He added quietly to himself, especially those who are too young and yet have plastered their faces with heavy makeup.
No one could blame Yves King, for he had grown up around Wendy Quay, a girl as pure and pristine as a delicate white flower. He naturally took a dislike to girls who could effortlessly be innocent, yet choose to present themselves like nonconformist little punks.